Iron Gold (Red Rising Saga 4)

“He will if you tell him to.”

“No, he won’t.” I pause my packing, look at Victra’s pleading eyes. “We both know I would have to knock him unconscious and leave him here hogtied.” She shrugs her shoulders, suggesting she would be fine with that plan. “I can’t do that to him.”

“But you can take him to Venus? Where he’s likely to die?”

“I can’t manipulate him,” I say. “I won’t. Even if I do, we both know he’ll be right behind me in another, slower ship.”

“Then I’ll put his leg in a bear trap.”

“He’ll just chew it off.”

“True.” She makes a small, judgmental sound and leans forward to kiss me on the lips. She lingers so I smell the bitter flowers of her perfume, and for a moment, so close and quiet, we are in a different world, in a different life. Then she draws back to look at me. The gold of her irises is brilliant even through her narrowed eyelids. “I love you, Darrow. You are the best friend I have. You are godfather to my children. But if you do not bring my husband back to me, I will leave this blasted moon, return to Mars, and you will never see me or my children ever again.”

“I’ll bring him back,” I say. She looks doubtful. “I promise. But you have to promise me something in return—”

“You know I hate politics,” she interrupts, guessing my game. “Those rats hate me. Even Daxo’s little band.” She sighs nonetheless. “But I’ll help the lioness. If she lets me.”

“Thank you,” I say, meaning it more deeply than she probably knows. Three more ammunition cases and a big knife disappear into the rucksack. I cinch the opening closed with finality.

“Yes, yes. You’re lucky you’re so pretty.”

I join the rest of the Howlers on the roof and watch Sevro say goodbye to Victra. She clings to him in a desperate way I’ve never seen. Should I leave him? Could I? I don’t know if I could go the distance without him, but seeing his head clutched to his wife’s chest, I feel the trauma of what I’m doing not just to him, but both our families. It feels like the world is doing this to us. But is it the world, or is it me? The way I am built? A breaker, not a builder after all.

Soon Sevro is with me, wiping his eyes despite the falling rain. I’m about to say something, a feeble attempt at making him stay behind, but he’s already past me. The Howlers follow him. They make a pack in the rain-stricken night, ducking their heads against the wind as they cross the roof toward our waiting ships. Absent are the howls. The jokes and ribbing. The city throbs with light, but my men are quiet and dark. I look out at the writhing cityscape and wonder if the Republic Wardens are already on their way.

—

It is two hours by shuttle to Lake Silene. The hour is late and the house quiet by the time we arrive. My family’s Lionguards salute as we pass across the grounds. I feel their eyes on my back. They will know what I am about, and they’ll notify Mustang. Sevro goes to the room of his children, and I go to Pax’s. I sit for a moment watching him sleep, thinking I should not wake him. The lie I tell myself is that I should protect him and just leave. The fear is that I cannot face him. But I must, or what sort of man am I?

Gently, I touch his shoulder. “Pax.”

He was already awake. “Father?”

“Put your shoes on.” My son dresses and follows me sleepy-eyed from his room to the garage. It smells of rubber and engine oil. I walk to the row of hoverbikes that sit resting on their flipstands. “Which one is yours?” He points to a rickety hunter-green bike as long as a man. Three saber-like manifolds jut out from the front of it. A pale leather seat sits midway along the narrow, wasplike fuselage.

“Your mother lets you ride this?” I ask in mild surprise.

He’s wary of me, of my tone. “Yes, Father.”

I sit on my haunches. “She says you built it yourself.” He nods. “That’s incredible. Will you tell me how?”

“Why?”

“I want to know. It’s not something I can do.”

He grins suddenly and bursts to life with explanations of RPMs and thrust and stabilizers and adapting mismatched components. I sit back on my heels watching him, falling in love with my son all over again. His mind is more curious than mine. More delighted by the nuances of knowledge. An overwhelming desire to protect him rises up in me. If only he could hold this joy for the rest of his life. I wonder if my father thought the same of me before his cause swallowed him up.

“How did you even think to build it?” I ask him.

“I watched the mechanics, and I asked questions. It’s all scrap parts. Dorian au Arcos has a bike. His mother let him ride when he was seven. So I asked Mother if I could get one too, but she said I could if I built it myself. She wouldn’t give me any money, so I had to collect the parts from the scrap garages.”

“In Hyperion?” I ask.

“No!” he laughs. “It’s too expensive there. I could never afford it. Niobe took me to Tycho City. They’ve got lots of racers there at the track. So they cycle through models fast and I was able to get a good deal.”

Mustang was clever in that. How hard it is to teach children that their parents’ money is not their own. I remember how Romulus au Raa raised his children—without servants and holo access until sixteen. Mustang was as taken by the idea of it as I was.

“W